~EPILOGUE~
I live for the infamous epilogue! Actually, there is a not-so-literary and not-so-nice term for readers like me who are addicted to the epilogue at the end of a romance novel. I won't repeat it, but I will admit that I am an epilogue junkie and I will never recover. According to Merriam-Webster, the epilogue is defined as a concluding section that rounds out the design of a literary work; one additional chapter at the end of the book, which continues the life after the happily-ever-after ending of the main story. Some readers despise epilogues, complaining that they are too predictable and formulaic. In most cases, the heroine gets pregnant, usually within the first year after marriage. CHECK. She delivers a baby girl ~ angelic and lovely ~ followed by a tough and tumble baby boy the next year. CHECK, CHECK. Everything about normal life is upended, as the happy couple makes continual adjustments. The hero and heroine learn to willingly sacrifice all for the sake of love, home, and family. TRIPLE CHECK.
No matter how much one is tempted otherwise, the reader must wait until the very end for that well-written epilogue. Afterward, the reader can close the romance novel and smile for a few minutes ~ thoroughly smitten, captivated, charmed, and entranced. I have literally read the book a second time, just to experience the epilogue again. So...here's the epilogue to this series of posts ~ the life after the happily-ever-after ending of the main story. No author could have written it more perfectly.
David turned 51 this year, and I will celebrate my 57th birthday in December. We have both spent the major portion of our lives together. David adopted our daughter one year after we married, and we gave her a little sister and brother within the next two years. Our three children have grown into successful adults and have made us proud more times than we can count. After the babies were born, we moved out of the cozy little cabin and built our first family home. Altogether (children and college moves included), we have moved various members of our immediate family 41 times. We have lived in a hundred-year-old shack, a newly-constructed brick home, a church parsonage (twice) and a single-wide mobile home that we gave to my parents as a place to retire. We bought a hundred acre farm, a two-story home with a swimming pool, and the original honeymoon cabin ~ after an absence of 17 years. Some people say we are gypsies. How exciting is that! I like to think we are pilgrims still moving towards our desired haven ~ our last best nest. As a couple, we have been crushed, and we have been cured; we have been filled, sealed, and bound together. We have understood the sacrificial elements required to establish a bond that stands the test of time. Over time, we have created a family of mortar.
No epilogue is sufficient without a few twists of irony, usually in the form of revelation to the reader. Use of paradox or discovery is not simply an unveiling of the writer's technique; the device is necessary for the reader's close-the-book feeling of complete triumph. For David and me, the unexpected and unlikely divergence took place at a faith-healer's revival in Jackson, MS in May of 1989 ~ our third year of marriage. I attended the revival meeting on a Friday night with my mother. She had suffered greatly with back problems and had heard about the fantastical healing testimonies. A former Miss America had claimed the miraculous healing of a limp, in which a shorter leg grew during one of the services. Mom and I set out on an adventure with one singular thought ~ what could it hurt? That night, Mom took her place in the long healing line after the great and glorious sermon of faith; however, she did not receive the instant healing which she sought. I, on the other hand, was chief among the cynics. Despite an unsettling reservation, I watched the evening's events with awe. On the way home, I realized that the miracle had occurred in me ~ a spiritual transformation ~ unexplainable, unbelievable, and undeniable. The following Saturday night, David and I attended the service together. He, too, felt the tugging force of the reigns, and our lives were changed forever. We both had been touched by the finger of God.
When I first began this series of posts, I stated that David was my equal yoke. I didn't understand what that meant until recently. My grandpa had a wagon and two mules, so I understand a yoke. It is important when plowing a pair of mules or leading a team of horses that they are equally-yoked together. In other words, the paired horses must stay in line or "equal" with each other as they travel down the row or the path ahead of them. When one horse turns, the other horse must move with the same adjustments. If this movement does not occur, then the one holding the reins must gently tug and guide the pair back in line. If the adjustment does not happen, then the yoke becomes heavy, strained, and weighted. Once the animals' symmetry of movement is realigned, the yoke becomes lighter and less burdensome on the animals. Even the Rolling Stones understood this concept with the lyrics, "I'll never be your beast of burden." Being equally-yoked is not about marrying someone who is just like you. Being equally-yoked is moving together in agreement, always willing to honor the pull of the reins and to make whatever adjustments are necessary.
I love this verse in Psalms: Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them. That's why I love romance novels. The author keeps adjusting the reins throughout the book, and if he or she is successful, the yoke is equal by the end of the book. The beginning substance is unperfect; however, the planning and ordaining has begun in the author's thoughts even before the characters have met ~ even before the characters are born! We, the readers, witness the continuing fashioning as the days and deeds are recorded on each page and the chapters of life flow into a seamless, fluid movement leading up to the expected end.
Even the magicians ~ those who understand fascination, illusion, allurement ~ know that this is the finger of God. Writers understand the process all too well. They create, conjure, and craft until the lives leap off the page and into our hearts. We relish the twists and turns, we weep as our heart breaks and laugh as our heart sores, and we never lose hope even in the midst of the most difficult conflicts.
So you see, the bad apple was preserved for me, and I was preserved for him. Our story is being written by the finger of God. David and I came from two totally different starting points, and no one would ever imagine that our paths could intersect at any point. We should have never met, matched, or married. When I was in high school, he was in grade school, When I was a senior in college, he was a high school junior. When I was an editor of a newspaper, he was a bad apple. I was called Cotton by a beloved basketball coach ~ a name of endearment for my light blond hair and easy-going personality. David was known as Caveman ~ a name which defined his brutish behavior and ruddy physique. And yet, he was preserved for me.
David is the bi-vocational pastor of a small Baptist church now, and he lives a life of strength, honor, faithfulness, and devotion. I am more the Cavewoman in my role as a preacher's wife. And yet, we continue to feel the tug of the reins as we find that easy, equal yoke ~ the essence of the epilogue. Once the book is complete, the autograph is signed by the Author ~ the finger of God. What a divine book-signing!
For our 30th anniversary, my husband wanted to buy me a brand new car. Over the years, I had always driven used cars or the kids' throwbacks. I had been looking at one car in particular for over a year. I even knew the exact color I wanted. He located that perfect car for me at an area dealership, bought it on the spot, and drove it home.
The name of the car...
a ROGUE, of course. How romantic!
Dianne ;)
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